Untitled
by a little bird told me
Summary: Hermione discovered Draco crying in the Restricted Section in the middle of the night. but how did this one event change everything? This is my first Dramione - well, my first fanfic, actually.
1. Chapter 1

Hermione placed her book gently on the shelf and shivered. The library was cold as ice in the night-time, but it was nice. It seemed somehow bigger without all the other students, and homier. Hers. The gas lanterns had gone out hours ago, and Madam Pince had long since gone to bed. Hermione checked her lighted watch – twelve thirty, and yet she wasn't tired.

The one thing she didn't love about Hogwarts was its lack of privacy. She slept in a room with four other girls with only a scarlet curtain to separate them. She lived her life among hundreds of students, with hardly any time to herself. The rules prevented her from being alone, so she had to break the rules, and the curfew, and the lock on the library door.

She had read many books in this way: dozens, perhaps hundreds, from all sections of the library. Astronomy, Astrology Economics, Herbology, History, Magical Creatures, Magical Politics, Psychology... but never anything from the Restricted Section. That wasn't allowed.

Technically, she wasn't allowed in the library at night either, but she didn't mind doing something she could see was reasonable. Not anymore at least. It had been years since the incident with the troll, her first bout of mischief, but gradually she had changed into someone more independent who could think for herself. Though she didn't particularly _like_ breaking the rules, there was a certain freedom about it, a naive _naughtiness _that was quite releasing from her well-ordered day. And it wasn't as if reading a naughty book would do any real harm, was it?

Decided, she tiptoed barefoot across the wintry stone floor, counting the aisles in the dark with her hand. It was a curious thing, how the futility of one sense could heighten the others, as it did every night. She could smell the pages of the books, the change in the air. She could hear Madam Pince's breathing in her room across the passageway, her own soft footsteps and –

Hermione stopped short behind a shelf and caught her breath. There was an extra sound that night: a ragged breathing, _crying _even, just to her left in the Herbology section. The crying person kept seizing their breath, as if trying to regain their composure. Hermione stood silently, frozen and listening intently, unsure of what to do.

_"S-stupid. Can't even k-keep myself t-together,"_ the person muttered – a boy.

Hermione peeked around the shelf as the moon emerged from its clouds, giving a shade of light to the room. She could just make out a shadowy figure sitting and leaning against the books, knees drawn up protectively, light hair covering his eyes. He sniffed and took a deep, shuddering breath. The young man lifted his head and looked up through the window, the moon directly shining on his face.

And then she realized. The boy was Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince, king of all bullies. And his strong face wore the look of a lost child. She couldn't look away, couldn't move, couldn't even think. She heard a sharp intake of breath – her own – and his head snapped up.

"Who's there?" he whispered sharply.

Hermione didn't know what to do. She was about to be caught red-handed catching Draco Malfoy red-handed crying, and she couldn't see any way out.

"Show yourself! Who's there?" He stood up, recovered now, and angry. He took out his wand.

"Okay! Okay," she found herself whispering. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to –"

He stepped around the bookcase, pointing his wand at her chest. "What are you doing here?"

"I – I'm a Prefect, Malfoy, I –"

He cut her off._ "Granger?_"

"Yes?" Her reply sounded like a question. She expected him to be furious, violent even, but he merely lowered his wand and gave a heavy sigh. His face became soft and calm. Was it possible that he was _relieved _to know it was her?

"You won't tell anyone. I know you won't."

"But – what?"

"You won't tell anyone," he repeated. "You... you're that kind of person."

She was speechless, and his face hardened suddenly.

"So you're the one who picked the lock then? Nice work, for a Mudblood," he scoffed, attempting bravado. "I must say, Granger, I never expected anyone as uptight as you to break the rules. Or is someone else here?"

"No. No, I'm alone."

"Fine. Good. Excellent. I'm sure McGonagall will be _very interested _to know about this little excursion of yours. You're not quite so perfect as you seem, are you? How disappointing."

Finished with his tirade, he smirked and turned away, but not before Hermoine thought she glimpsed the softness in his eyes again.

"You won't tell anyone," she realized.

He stopped mid-step. "How do you know that?"

"You won't tell McGonagell, or anyone."

"I see. Anything else?"

"Yes."

He turned to face her. "Well, come on, _Granger_. I don't have all night, you see. I need my beauty sleep." He smirked.

"Are you okay?"

He paused, opened his mouth, and shut it again. Then he turned with a swish of his cloak and stormed from the library, leaving her alone in the dark and, for the first time, lonely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Humblest apologies to the two people who responded to my first chappie (ever!) for the long wait – I really have no ligit excuse. Let's just say: homework, hormones, and harpy. End of story. :D **

**Oh, and I forgot to disclaim. Ahem: The wonderful piece of modern literature on which this fanfiction is based is most definitely not my property but rather that of our beloved J.K. Rowling: rockstar author and generally a total goddess. :D **

**Enjoy.**

***Draco***

I found myself walking the hallways in my usual manner, not really bothering to patrol properly, and recalling with sincere difficulty how I had come to be there. I had gotten up that morning, my skin dry from the cold air of my night's walk, which was why I was so tired… wait. The night's walk.

Wait, wait. That _couldn't _have happened? Surely not? I stopped dead in the middle of a doorway, causing a group of first-years to run headlong into my rigid back and tumble to the floor in a disgruntled heap. I didn't even look around as one murmured, "Oh, it's _Malfoy_. Typical."

My surname had the usual effect on me. I was a Malfoy. I turned, a smirk already in place, and marched in the opposite direction. Stupid first years. They didn't know anything about me, nothing at all. Still, it was the first week of school, for crying out loud. Was my reputation that bad? Draco Malfoy, the badass bully?

Well, that was acceptable. My smirk grew more distinct. Badass.

_You weren't so badass last night, were you? _My father's voice drawled in my mind. _You disgrace your parentage. I ought to disinherit you like a common half-blood._

That was a problem. If Father did find out, I'd be in big trouble. The Dark Lord himself would probably know within a week. He'd certainly punish me with – well, anything really. He Who Must Not Be Named was infamous for the creativity of his punishments. He'd humiliate me in front of his most faithful Death Eaters, surely. Then maybe he'd torture me for a few hours to 'man me up', or perhaps he'd have my mother arrested or have Hermione Granger killed for good measure.

No. They must not know. I shrank from the images swirling in my skull. I had to go outside; perhaps some fresh air would help clear my head.

Seconds later I stopped again, scowling. The Potty Gang had claimed my favourite thinking spot by the lake, under the comfy tree there. Potty and Weasel were playing exploding snap while Granger had her nose stuck right in a book. Curricular, no doubt. Did she ever read a novel, at the very least? I smiled. She would always be the responsible one.

Weasel withdrew his arm in pain (the exploding snap had, inevitably, exploded) and elbowed her in the side. She "Ouch!"ed loud enough for me to hear and swatted Weasel's shoulder playfully. The three of them were laughing. So carefree, naïve even, to genuinely laugh at so small a thing. I tried unsuccessfully to remember the last time I'd genuinely laughed.

Hermione – _Granger, _I corrected myself – _Granger _looked over to where I was standing, her expression flashing from puzzled to concerned to worried.

Worried? She was worried?

But she didn't _like _me. It was one thing for her to worry about the other two, but _me?_ _Draco Malfoy? _Not even my Aunt Bella genuinely worried about me. Definitely overkill.

Or maybe she was exceptionally kind as well as intelligent.

Then I realized that the other two members of the Tragic Trio were looking me like I was a mental patient.

_Say something sarcastic, Draco._

"Say, Potty? Have a pleasant holiday? I heard you spent the last of it with that buffoon's family. Poor thing. Were you living on table scraps?" So it wasn't particularly intelligent, but desperate times…

Weasel, of course, turned maroon and stood up aggressively. "Shove off, Malfoy," he ordered menacingly.

I smirked. There could be no easier target in the entire world. It just wasn't any fun. Potter wasn't even angry. He just looked annoyed, probably more at Weasley's reaction, and the second hint that Draco Malfoy knew more than he should. That is, if he had even picked it up.

And Granger: she looked… was that sadness? Surely not_ sympathy_? "Well, since you asked so politely…" I replied, and with a dramatic swish of my cloak, I stormed away, headed for my dormitory.

As much as I hated to admit it, even to myself, I was sick and tired of the lousy '_I hate everyone_' routine. It was pointless as it was boring. The worst part was: I'd still been a kid when I first came to Hogwarts. Sure, he'd been I nasty little git then, I'd freely admit it now (well, maybe not to Weasley). But until then I'd lived under the sole influence of his disgusting relations. And now… how could I stop, or start again?

What good was being a pure blood if I had to deal with all this crap? It didn't appear to have any effect on me at all except for the pile of Galleons in my Gringott's vault. Not that being friendly was the most important thing, but sometimes I wondered if this whole 'pride in the bloodline' thing just isolated me from the rest of a perfectly good group of people.

A Creevy brotherpassed him in the hall, shrinking slightly from my automatic sneer. No, that wasn't nice, but _still… _I mused. There had always been something about Muggle Borns that made me feel queasy in his stomach. And _Muggles _– ick. This was the so-called evidence that I, and my father before me, had always used to tell me, "Draco, they are disgusting; they're beneath you, etcetera, etcetera." But despite this…

I couldn't stop thinking about her _face._

She was so kind, and worried about me. As if she _cared_. She'd been like that the previous night, too. The two Hermione Grangers seemed etched in my mind, side by side, identical, with the same little worried furrow in her brow, eyes alert and curious, the same soft mouth closed, restraining questions, no doubt…

What if she felt _sorry for me? _Or what if she had told them? There could be no telling from their reaction. I had to see her again, to make sure. I stopped at a nearby window. No, her face appeared to be buried in that book again. Surely if the other two had known, they'd still be pestering her for details? Speculating? It was certainly what I would do.

So maybe she hadn't told them. Maybe her worry meant that she also wanted to protect me. But that made no sense! I was despised by her entire house, even the first years! I was that badass!

But her eyes were so kind…

That was it. I had to find out, had to know if she had told them, and, if she hadn't, why in Merlin's name not?

**Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to everyone! (Now I have a computer of my own (it's very shiny) so I'll be able to stay up 'till unhealthy hours on this. Woot!) And Happy Birthday to me – I'm now 15. :-) I hope this one wasn't too internal jabber-y. I just felt I had to explain Draco's thinking. Don't you hate it when you read a fanfic and you get confused as to why? Next chapter soon, I promise.**

**Question: who here likes perspective changes? Is it confusing/corny/crap? (okay, stopping my inner alliteration maniac right now. I think I'm a little too hyped to finally be publishing) **

**Thanks for reading. Please comment!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey there, readers. This one's from Malfoy's perspective. And yay, I made good on my promise of a quick delivery. :D**

**Bon Appetite!**

***Draco***

I entered the classroom five minutes early. I wasn't planning on being late so any more teachers could complain about my obvious inattentive, exhausted state. I also planned to try and watch Granger as closely as possible, try and get inside her head, see past those big brown eyes… Hmm, she was already there. With Weasel-bee and Potty-boy: it was unusual for them to be early. They seemed to be arguing about something, so I went to my desk and took out some parchment, pretending to doodle on the edge so I could listen in.

The Weasel-bee was complaining that Granger wouldn't finish his Charms Essay for him. Spoilt brat. _Stupid Ron Weasley, _I shot across the dank potions dungeon._ He gets to spend _every frigging day_ with her, and he doesn't appreciate her at all_.

"C'mon, please?"

"I told you yesterday to finish it, but you _insisted _on playing that silly card ga-"

"It's not a silly card game!"

"I'm not writing your essay this time."

Ronald made a whining noise. "Hermione? Do you want to see me fail?"

There was a pause.

"You should have done it last week," she protested weakly. It sounded like a surrender.

"Please?"

"Fine. But next time…"

"Next time you'll leave me to fend for myself. I'll get T's for everything."

"Yep."

"Thanks Hermione, you're so smart. I don't know what we'd do without you." _Oh, nice. Compliment her after she agrees to do your homework, you lazy-_

"Open your books to page four-hundred-and-eighty-four," Snape drawled from the doorway as he swept into the room. Silence fell immediately, as usual. There was a hasty rustling as everyone turned to the correct page. Snape took his position at the front of the class and surveyed his students down his abnormally long, hooked nose.

"As I have already mentioned, you will be facing your OWL examinations later in this year. You will be facing tasks which you are currently woefully –" his eyes flicked to Potter and Weasley " – incapable of completing. However, I do wish to ensure that you all achieve the best marks you _are _capable of. Therefore, I have chosen a particularly difficult potion from previous OWL examination years for you to complete in a month. If you would all read the first page of this chapter in silence…"

Hermione's hand shot straight up. I smiled unconsciously. You would think she'd have learned by now that Snape doesn't pay her any attention, surely? She's a bright girl.

Blaise elbowed me in the ribs. _Oh, right, the text._

Within seconds my hand too was in the air.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy?"

Imeasured my words carefully. "Sir, this potion… it's definitely NEWT level. It's in the extension section of our textbook – it probably hasn't been examined for decades. I doubt the class could complete this in a month by ourselves." Many of the students looked offended. Neville in particular looked as though he were considering spraying mimbulus mimbeltonia sap in my precious blonde hair. I'd like to see him try.

"You are quite right, Mr Malfoy. Twenty points to Slytherin," Snape replied. I saw Potter's fists clench. We all knew if a Gryffindor had made that observation they would wind up in detention for insolence, and probably have twenty points deducted, too. "That is why I have decided to place you in pairs for this assessment," he continued.

Ah, pairs. Bane of the Tragic Trio. I grinned shamelessly as Snape began listing pairs, undoubtedly engineered to torture all of us. "… Mr Potter and Mr Zambini, Miss Brown and Mr Goyle…" too bad for Lavender; working with Goyle was worse than working solo. "… and Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger."

I wouldn't doubt that we both visibly paled. A month working alone with Miss Granger?

"You will need to utilise your time wisely. I would recommend several study sessions outside school hours. If I hear of _any _groups working in collaboration with each other I will _personally _deal with them."

Longbottom gulped loudly. No help from Hermione Granger for him, then.

"Now, this task will require you to test your potions on yourselves, once I have examined it and assured you of its safety."

I saw Hermione glance at her page, eyes widening in shock. Her hand shot up once more.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" _Wow, he actually asked her._

"Sir, it says here that the purpose of this potion is to 'trade one's consciousness with another's for a twenty-four hour period' and that, if brewed incorrectly 'the transformation may become permanent'?"

A flurry of rustling parchment and confused murmurs swept through the classroom. I just sat in shock. He expected me to trade bodies with a Muggle Born? Hermione Granger?

"Silence," Snape drawled menacingly.

Silence fell immediately. Snape began slowly pacing up and down the rows, twirling his wand between his fingers.

"It is my strong opinion that the majority of the students present are capable of performing this task in pairs. However, in the event of such an accident, I already have prepared an antidote which, if administered in short time, will easily annul the effects of the potion. You may begin."

The class appeared very taken aback at this abrupt statement, but quickly moved into their allocated pairs. I watched Hermione walk towards me, her face determined. My, my, she did look upset.

"Well Howdy, partner," I joked, figuring we could start off on the right foot for the assessment, seeing as I'd blown the entire relationship for good.

She scowled at me. "When do you want to meet, and how often, for how long?" she asked.

"Oh, I see. All business and no pleasure, then." Whoa. She was letting me call the shots? Advantage officially taken. "Hmm… how about every afternoon at four for an hour, starting today?" Her eyes widened considerably. I bit back a chuckle. "And how about we meet in the library, in the Potions section?"

"Wait, really, an hour a day?" She looked incredibly taken aback. This really was amusing.

"Oh, is it too much–?" I goaded.

"No! I'm just… impressed with your work ethic." _Work ethic?_ Hermione Granger was complimenting me on my _work ethic? _She _defined _work ethic.

"A bit of a one-up from Weasel-bee?"

She scowled again and avoided the question. "I thought you'd want to spend as little time with me as possible, actually." She looked down, embarrassed. She must have thought I hated her for witnessing… that. And, well… I had, but… I was curious.

It's best to be the gentleman in these situations.

"I'd hoped we could put that behind us for now and focus on the assignment." I grimaced. "I wish things had happened… differently." Like me choosing another spot to turn into an adolescent infant, or maybe not breaking down in the first place, or having no reason to break down would be good…

"Whoa, really?" She looked very doubtful.

"No ulterior motive, I swear. Just an O in Potions." Er, well, except for getting inside her head. Which was purely to prevent my parents finding out that I was really Draco Malfoy The Occasional Blubbering Wreck. I had no ulterior motive that would affect _her_.

She looked doubtful (very), but at least she consented to a truce. "Okay, that does sound easier."

Woot! I'm in!

"Great, so–"

The bell rang for end of school.

"So I'll see you in half an hour," she finished for me.

"Yeah, see you then." I smile, wave and walk out of the classroom, passing open-mouthed Potter and Weasley on my way out with a snigger.

Blaise caught up with me halfway up the corridor. "Man, what the _hell _was that about? I mean, I have no problem with her, but…"

I rolled my eyes at him comically. "Blaise, please. She's going to be _in my body _for a _whole day. _Would you really want her mad at _you_?" It was a good excuse, and partially true.

He grimaced. "I suppose not."

I grinned. "I'll see you later," I said, and took a shortcut through a secret stair. I needed a bit of extra time. I might be able to squeeze in a shower before four…

**Thanks for reading :D Please comment.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: of course I do not own anything affiliated with Harry Potter, that's all attributed to the Great and Powerful J.K. Rowling (hallowed be her name :P). And thanks so much to the people who subscribed/favourited/commented/whatever, you officially made my day and made me want to write more! In short, yay, have a nice day.**

* * *

Blaise wasn't buying it.

He'd practically known Draco since birth; he'd borne witness to the influence Lucius had on his son, slowly transforming him into the asshole he knew and loved (and put up with) these days. Blaise knew when he was being lied to, by his best friend at least, and he was absolutely certain he'd just been lied to. That had only happened twice before: once when, at three years old, Draco had broken Blaise's favourite toy, and the second when they had together discovered Lucius's involvement with the Dark Lord. Never since then. Not even when Draco had perceived that He Who Must Not Be Named began to show interest in his doings, or even when he'd noticed bruises on his mother's back and neck after a disagreement with his father. This was something big.

Draco should have jumped at the opportunity to torture his least favourite Muggle born. He'd have relished in it under normal circumstances. His excuse was dumb: he could have just threatened her to keep her well behaved in his body. Or whatever. Draco was infamously industrious when it came to the creative taunting of those who he perceived as "lesser".

So why was he being nice to Granger all of a sudden? It wasn't as though Blaise could just ask – he was never going to get anything out of Draco, that was for sure. But maybe a study of Miss Granger could be more informative?

Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep –

Snooze button. Groan. As usual, Hermione hadn't had enough sleep. She couldn't remember the last time she had. What with the OWLs this year, the extra Prefect duties, the harder class work, not to mention the return of You-Know-Who, she'd been worrying far too much to get any sleep, even with the potions from Madam Pomfrey. Her night-time library expeditions weren't helping either; she supposed she must have gone out last night... Yes. To the library for the second night in a row, just in case he was back again –

But wait, had that been a dream? Had she really seen Draco Malfoy crying?

Yes, it was coming back to her now. He had looked so helpless, so broken… he was so lost.

But that was ridiculous. He was Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.

_Well, _argued a small part of her, _did he _look _like the Draco you know?_

The larger part shrunk.

Hermione thought of what the Sorting Hat had said at the feast. "...Our Hogwarts is in danger from external, deadly foes, and we must unite inside her or we'll crumble from within..." It was right. She couldn't act so childishly towards the other houses anymore, especially not Slytherin. You-Know-Who was back again, for Merlin's sake, and they couldn't afford to be developing such exclusion between the cultural groups of the young wizarding community.

On the other hand, how could she push past such strong boundaries? It wasn't as though they wanted her friendship – especially not purebloods like Malfoy. Still, she remembered his bravado the night before. How often did he put it on? The teasing, the bullying – it had to be a part of it. She couldn't help wondering what was so wrong with Malfoy, and what sort of person he really was underneath the cold exterior.

And then in class, only hours later, he'd been almost kind.

And she had to trade bodies with him, this mystifying new Malfoy.

Fan-flying-tastic.

Still, he'd seemed much more like his usual self in their study session that afternoon. She closed her eyes, figuring she'd let herself drift for another ten minutes until that pesky alarm went off again. Where was she? Draco being an asshole, again. He'd shown up at least twenty minutes late levitating a pair of thermoses beside him…

"_Sorry I'm late, Granger. I found several hundred better things to do on my way," he smirked._

_What was she supposed to say? That's fine, Malfoy. I just love wasting my time. "What's in those?"_

"_Coffee," he replied, handing her the warm drink._

_Hermione was confused. So he was going to be an ass, but bring her refreshments? "Why?"_

"_You look completely wiped out. We can't have you falling asleep at the table with me: people will say I bored you to sleep. I have a reputation to uphold, you know."_

"_One which is not sullied by casual conversation with a Muggle born?" Hermione asked sarcastically._

"_School is school. I want O's, remember? I have to be nice to you, even if you _are _a Mudblood. Potty's Mudblood to boot."_

_Hermione bit back fiery retorts and settled to smoulder at him instead. If anything was part of his dumb façade, please God, let this be it. "Well, I hate coffee. So thanks but no thanks," she replied, pleased to hear the venom in the hiss. _

_The blonde cast a furtive look around the room, then winked. "Me too. Here –" he flicked his wand and conjured mugs of steaming cocoa instead – "do you like marshmallows?"_

So now Hermione was thoroughly confused, a rare occurrence by anyone's standards. He'd continued the meeting in much the same manner, alternating affable and asshole by turns. What in the name of Merlin's saggy left –well, you know- was going on with this mystifying new Malfoy?

Beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep.

Stupid alarm. Hermione tore back her blanket and grabbed her astronomy textbook. May as well finish off the homework due next week if she couldn't sleep in, right?

* * *

**Wow, sorry guys & girls out there for the LONG wait. I got a little… unenthused, I guess would be the right word, about my fanfic. I've been writing my own stuff, but of course I can't post that here! And then I guess I kind of lost the plot (figuratively and literally). I got caught up in the real world and then I couldn't remember where I was going with this at all! Bummer. So I have a NEW plot from here: TADA! **


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